Out of Africa
by Arraydesign
Summary: He hasn't spoken to her since she hung up on him a week ago. Danny and CJ. Post series. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Out of Africa**

Pairing: CJ/Danny  
Author: Array  
Email: array_

Rating: general

Disclaimer: They're not mine….but you know that

Feedback: why yes!  
Author's Notes: Post Cannon

September 2008, California

He's waiting at LAX in the International Arrivals lounge but he's still angry. He hasn't spoken to her since she hung up on him a week ago, after telling him that her African itinerary was none of his business. Then out of the blue she emailed him yesterday to say she was coming home five days early because she wasn't feeling well and would he pick her up. He sent a one word answer; "Yes", so here he is. He can see the connecting flight from Addis Ababa has arrived so she should be coming through the doors any minute.

Amidst the hubbub of arrivals he barely hears them calling his name over the PA. When he goes to the airline counter the agent tells him she almost fainted at customs and they're arranging for a cart to bring her out with her luggage. So now he's frightened on top of the anger and when he sees her he's possessed by the conflicting urges to shake her senseless and wrap her in his arms. He stands motionless, watching as she thanks the driver. She's moving slowly and she's paler than anyone who's been in Africa for nearly three weeks should be. Her smile is a ghost of its former self.

"Everything hurts."

He kisses her forehead, "You feel hot."

"Yeah, I know. I tried so hard to appear well so I could make it onto the plane, but now I'm totally bagged. I don't know what it is, but I know what it's not. It's not Ebola, Dysentery or malaria. The guys at Médecins Sans Frontières gave me antibiotics, but said to come home." She leans on his arm. "Marcie made me an appointment with my doctor at 2pm. She's at the clinic today, but really, I just want to go home." She looks like she's lost about ten pounds.

"Oh no. I think the clinic is a good idea. When's the last time you ate?"

She shrugs. "I can't really keep anything down. It either comes back up or it goes right through."

"Are you okay while I go get the car?"

"Yeah. I just need to sit down."

He gets her outside, and she's shivering in the light breeze. He takes off his jacket and puts it around her. They find a bench, and she waits there miserably while he gets the car.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: **Out of Africa part 2**

Pairing: CJ/Danny  
Author: Array  
Email: array_

Rating: general

Disclaimer: They're not mine….but you know that

Feedback: why yes!  
Author's Notes: Post Cannon

September 2008, California

"You're really dehydrated. I'm going to put you on a saline IV with a huge dose of a broad spectrum antibiotic. It's really going to knock your socks off, but we've got to get whatever this is under control, and I suspect it has some kind of resistance to antibiotics. I'd really like to keep you here over night"

"Oh please... I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed."

"Wait until this IV is finished and we'll discuss it." The doctor looks at Danny. "She has to go to bed and stay there. You can give her Tylenol for the fever if she can keep it down. Try that liquid stuff for kids. It gets absorbed more readily. I'll show you how to figure out the dosage. She needs to drink at least a quart of liquid every two hours. You should pick up some Gastrolyte, and some ginger ale… even Kool-Aid is good. Try popsicles. They'll give her liquid, some sugars and they'll help with the fever." She glances over at C.J., "If you don't think you can make her stay in bed I'll keep her here."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room," she says weakly.

He looks over at her. She's pleading with her eyes. "We'll go home," he says.

"If her temperature goes above 104° I want her back down here …Oh you should also get some acidophilus tablets or some yogurt with active culture. This antibiotic cocktail is going to kill all the bacteria in the gut, good or bad." The doctor turns to leave. "When that I.V. is done I'll come and check to see how you're doing. I'll probably let you go, but you'll need to come back in tomorrow, because you're going to need another intravenous round of antibiotics and probably saline too, depending on how much you manage to keep down. "

He helps her get undressed and into bed. She can barely stay awake. "Oh this feels so good." She says as her head hits the pillow. He strokes her hair, smoothing it behind her ear. "Are you still mad at me?" she asks limply.

"Yeah," he says, "But it'll keep." He kisses her on the cheek. "Go to sleep. I'm going out to pick up all the stuff you need"

"I love you."

"Same here."

He wakes her up three hours later to try to get her to drink something.

"It's apple juice. Come on sweetheart." He holds her up to put another pillow behind her head. He offers the straw. "Come on CJ, drink this"

She takes a couple of sips and shakes her head.

"This isn't an option…You have to drink something. You want water instead?"

"Sure" she says groggily.

He talks her through a glass of tepid water as if she's his six year old nephew.

"What time is it?" she asks, "Are you coming to bed?"

"It's eight o'clock, and no I'm not going to bed yet. I'll sleep in the other room. You need this bed to yourself."

"No, I really don't" she says sleepily, "I need you… Are you still mad at me?"

"No more than usual, really." He takes the extra pillow away, and crawls onto the bed so he can hold her in his arms.

"I'm sorry I hung up on you." He can barely hear her.

"That's not why I was mad."

"Well I'm sorry anyways" she says as she drifts back to unconsciousness.

He lies with her for a few minutes to make sure that she's really asleep. He doesn't want to close his eyes. He's trying to keep the images in his brain from playing out. Four years ago. In Kenya. He sees the dust kicked up by the car in front. He forces his eyes open, slides his arm out from under her, and pulls the sheet up around her. He goes back out to the living room, pours himself some scotch, and slumps into an armchair.

Two days later he's drinking coffee and reading the Post when she comes unsteadily out to the kitchen.

"Hey there stranger," he says cheerfully.

"Is that coffee?"

He moves the cup away from her. "I don't think so, missy. Do you want me to make you some tea?"

She sits on the stool across from him. "I can do it," she says, but she doesn't move.

He laughs and reaches across to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. "Tea and some dry toast?"

"Sounds appalling"

"Coming right up."

She leans against the counter and puts her head down on her arms. "It's a longer walk out here than I thought."

He rubs her back with one hand while he's waiting for the toast to pop up.


	3. Chapter 3

Title: **Out of Africa part 3**

Pairing: CJ/Danny  
Author: Array  
Email: array_

Rating: general

Disclaimer: They're not mine….but you know that

Feedback: why yes!  
Author's Notes: Post Cannon

September 2008, California

It's dark outside, and he's sitting on a stool at the counter in the kitchen staring out the patio doors with a glass of scotch in his hand. The only light is spilling out from the French door of his office. She comes out to the kitchen in her robe and bare feet, and sits on a stool across from him.

"You owe me a fight," she says with a half smile.

"It's not what you think."

"It never is."

"It's not about the phone call."

"I know. It's about the itinerary."

He sighs heavily.

"I have to go where they recommend Danny. I need to see for myself"

He shakes his head. "Not there." He says. "The DRC, yes. I'm not happy about it but I understand….Most of Kenya, yes…. Most of Ethiopia,…but not the Darfur, and not the Ogoden. Not there. And not anywhere along that Kenyan border."

"We would have been safe Danny. They had it under control"

"No. They didn't. They can't. You guys don't realize yet just how much you don't know. Can't know……no matter how good you think your information is…"

She's getting angry now. "We're not amateurs. We did the research….. And it's not like I'm a neophyte… for god's sake Danny I was chief of staff… I saw reports on this stuff... I was in the sit room, I know what's going on." She stands up, and moves a little away from him, trying to let physical distance cool the air.

He shakes his head. "No," he says stubbornly. "You know about it from afar. You know about it in terms of statistics….. In terms of numbers, in a disconnected kind of way."

"I resent that, you know…. I resent the implication that we can't translate information into human beings. Our guys on the ground there are excellent. We weren't even going that close to the border. We do know what's going on"

"You didn't. You couldn't have, because it's just not all available to you, and nothing makes that clearer to me than the fact that it was a last minute shift in the schedule." His eyes are blazing. "You're not the President's Chief of Staff anymore… with all the best will in the world…you missed that window... and I don't see the current administration getting their heads out of their democratic butts any time soon…"

"I did know Danny… I tried...in those last few months I tried to put together an agreement." She sits exhaustedly down, her head in her arms. She's still far too tired for this kind of mental anguish, but the floodgates are open for him, and there's no way to stem the rush.

"You parsed sentences! You discussed acts of genocide! You cited U.N. briefs and definitions…" he waves his hand angrily in the air.

She raises her head to look at him, her blue eyes wide with concern as the words spill out of him.

"I don't mind you taking risks. I don't mind you taking chances… hell, you can take skiing lessons without a helmet if you want, although I think we both know that's a bad idea, it's just…. If this is some kind of act of contrition on your part, then realize that it's not just you that would be paying the price. And I'm not sure I can just stand by and watch… I'm not sure I can do that kind of sacrifice. Do you understand what I'm saying here?" His hands are splayed on the counter, and he leans towards her, half threatening, half possessive.

For a moment she hears her own voice as press secretary assuring the room that there is a difference between 'genocide' and 'acts of genocide'. It makes her a little dizzy. As if the world has just shifted on its axis a little, and she can't quite find her balance. There's something else here. Something she can't define. She takes a deep breath. "Danny," she says quietly, "What do you know that we don't know."

He is silent for a moment. Her adjustment in tone takes all the fire out of his gut. The sound of concern in her voice makes him want to reach out and hold her: wrap her in his arms and lose himself inside her. He stays frozen for an instant, then looks down at the counter, tracing patterns in a little pool of spilled scotch. "Four years ago I was in the horn of Africa. I was doing work for the Post and National Geographic as well as a couple of online media outlets."

"I remember," she says gently.

"We were in a couple of cars heading towards a refugee camp in southern Somalia. Jacques Letourneau from Le Monde was in the front car with Ari our interpreter. Terry Wright, the photographer from Reuters was in the second car with me. We'd done our research. We'd talked to the local warlords. We knew it was dangerous but we thought we had it in hand. What we didn't know was there'd been some fighting in the area the day before, and the road we were on had been taken over by the rebels. They stopped the car in front of us about five miles from the border. They pulled the driver out and shot him on the spot. They shot Ari, the interpreter, as he ran from the car, and they clubbed Jacques with their rifle butts. I saw him fall to the ground." He's still focused on the liquor spill. He can't look up at her… can barely keep his voice in check.

"Our driver threw the car into reverse and got us out as quickly as he could. I was yelling at him to stop, and Terry was taking pictures and screaming I don't know what, but the driver was right. They were shooting at us as we drove away. There was nothing for us to do except be killed or taken ourselves." He's looking at his drink now. "Jacques was held for 48 days. He's a man, C.J. I've only heard what they do to women. …."

He still can't look at her. He takes drink of scotch.

"The problem was there was no one to negotiate with. No government…..No one in charge. The only reason they managed to find him was another rebel group picked him up after a fire fight with the first group. He was wounded in the leg during the skirmish. Five days later the French embassy in Addis Ababa got a call. The rebels probably thought he would die, and they wanted to get some value for him. I know money and probably some arms changed hands, and I know Le Monde backstopped it all, but that's it. It wasn't reported. It wasn't acknowledged. The authorities in Nairobi said reporting on it would bring legitimacy to the rebels, and publicity would encourage them to kidnap more victims.

We weren't the only ones. There were a couple of Canadian freelancers in 2005, and an Italian photographer…I don't know how many others because no government wants to talk about it."

"We knew," she says sadly. "You're right... we knew and we preferred not to…. I mean not specifically you…. We didn't know you were there…we wouldn't have….I wouldn't have…." She puts her head down on the counter.

"But you see, that's the issue… It's always people… individuals… it's you… it's me… it's Jaques and Ari… and god help me the poor driver whose name I didn't even know."

She lifts her head for just a moment. "We don't negotiate with terrorists…" she says with no emotion left in her voice. He swirls the drink in his glass.

"I don't know if we were right or not. Jacques swore on his release that he'd be going back to Africa, but I suspect his wife has had something to say about that. I know he suffered from post traumatic stress." He looks at her, and his blue eyes are incomparably sad. "Nothing has changed there. There's still no government. The border shifts daily. There is no law…. I didn't want you going there….I **don't** want you going there …..No…. You **can't** go there. You were lucky you got sick. I'm grateful you got sick. At least you're here."

There's a tear rolling down his face, and she leans over and wipes it away.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks gently.

"It just never came up. I don't like to remember it. I don't want to remember it….because it's my burden, not yours." He sighs. "Because I feel damaged… and I don't want you to have to deal with that…but I can still see my friends lying there in the dust." He takes another drink, and she takes the glass out of his hand.

"How many of these have you had?"

"It's never enough," he says quietly.

She gets up and walks around the counter, and wraps her arms around him. She rests her cheek on the top of his head and he sighs into her warm embrace.

"Do you want to talk to someone about it?"

"You," he says, his voice muffled in her robe, "I'm talking to you."

The End


End file.
